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Circeris: started reading the tale...
Dark Raivenn: I've never forgotten this place. I cant. Sometime soon my shadow will once again lurk around these halls.
Circeris: what's wrong with dead fairies?Fairies do die. Goth fairies do.
Dark Raivenn: Chaos doesnt want me to add dead fairies in my sylvan project
Dark Raivenn: im back
Circeris: *standing along the corridors. Staring at the blank walls of the gallery...
Circeris: caught up between staying in front of the pc and resting my eyes...
Dark Raivenn: sprayed my indoor plants with this cat spray to keep my two cats away from them and now the air around the house "taste" bitter. Yuck!
Dark Raivenn: changed the background and font colour. I think the current pick is easier to read.
Circeris: where? the default is grey already.
Dark Raivenn: still cant figure out how to have the text color on the main post not be too white to lessen the contrast with the black background. Anybody has any ideas?
Dark Raivenn: done with school for now. So I have the entire spring and summer to go and put life back on this journal. I miss this place.
Circeris: Made the text brighter.
Circeris: Tahoma. It's neat
Dark Raivenn: @ Circeris : new look is better. What font did you use?
Robin: That sounds great. We'll all try to write more. I honestly didn't think anyone would reply. But thank you. You've made my morning. A morning that would otherwise have been uneventful and dissappointing. Well let's keep in touch shall we?
Circeris: repainting the webjournal.....
Circeris: the presentation wasn't that grand, but the defense was alright...., I miss it here
Dark Raivenn: Ugh. I so dont feel like going to work today. CS how did your project defense go?
Dark Raivenn: pending post to be uploaded sometime before I head to bed at 12 midnight Atlantic Time.
Dark Raivenn: waiting for the site construction to be done
Dark Raivenn: Bécquer post done
Dark Raivenn: pending post clue: becquer, neruda y lorka......
Dark Raivenn: back
Dark Raivenn: I will be on vacation and will be back around the 25th or 26th.
Circeris: ......I'm back, and would be updating soon.
Dark Raivenn: My net connection is back up while Circeris is still pending repair
Dark Raivenn: regular postings will be done when Circeris pc is fixed and my net connection stops being flaky. Hopefully, sometime this week.
Azodnem: Great blog. Love the look.
Circeris: ...watching all Jim Henson's "Storyteller" on youtube. So far, i've seen 'the true bride' and 'the heartless giant'. I've read them before too......these clips are nice
Dark Raivenn: --update-- I will be working on the pending fairy tale post.
Circeris: got a wider space to run around now....
Not Orpheus: I'll always consider myself lucky that my mother forced all the amazing dark writers. The first book she ever gave me (apart from Shakespeare) was Poppy Z Brite. ^_^
Dark Raivenn: Oh, me and my sister can be quite obsessive too. So welcome to the obsessive club.
Not Orpheus: Anything made by H.P. Lovecraft is worth looking into. I have all versions and reprints of his books. Obsessive fan, I know.
Circeris: Hm, Id look up that Cthulhu Tarot set...thanks for dropping by Not Orpheus. +_,+ . come by anytime alright
Not Orpheus: The Call of Cthulhu Tarot set is way better... Of course, I am biased since I've been a fan for 20 years... ^_^
Dark Raivenn: @Daedalus -- you are still doing that awww *hugs* I'll probably be worse than you if I have to do that
daedalus: buffy tarot cards ehh... my brain is about to implode with axiomic foundationalism
Deadlywhisper: lol.. I will update my blog as soon as I am done my last exam, been really busy. Hope to see you before I go back home.
Dark Raivenn: reading list for SS 08 to be posted soon
Dark Raivenn: I want the wasp gone today!
Deadlywhisper: Thanks for the comment, I hope we get to see each other before I leave.
Circeris: I can't stop staring at our fence...hope to finish designing our Lounge soon...
Circeris: Link to mainpage above:Under --Links--
Circeris: Put up our fence...See mainpage. ~raiveris.cjb.net
Dark Raivenn: Davey said he got me the Zafra 8 already. So sis you dont need to get it for me save the money, buy anything cute and dark that you fancy
Dark Raivenn: to those that doesn't know where the Raiveris gallery is .. click on "my website raiveris" on top then go to the DarkHall and go straight. This place can be a maze at times
Circeris: updated the Sketch page inside Raiveris gallery

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Sunday, January 31st 2010

12:25 PM (9 days, 13h, 47min ago)

Hitler y el Ipad

  • Mood/Mindframe: mentally going through my list of things to do for the day



Random things that caught my interest:


       I loved this video a lot.For those of you who hasn't seen it yet, here it is.


Enjoy


bits and pieces
         to be added later



credits:
youtube.com


  ~Dark Raivenn~

                                   
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Tuesday, January 26th 2010

11:29 PM (14 days, 2h, 42min ago)

Scraggly Angel part 3 of 3




Random things that caught my interest:



continuation of Scraggly Angel part 2
        
          When the child began school it had been some time since the sun and rain had caused the collapse of the chicken coop. The angel went dragging himself about here and there like a stray dying man. They would drive him out of the bedroom with a broom and a moment later find him in the kitchen. He seemed to be in so many places at the same time that they grew to think that he'd be duplicated, that he was reproducing himself all through the house, and the exasperated and unhinged Elisenda shouted that it was awful living in that hell full of angels. He could scarcely eat and his antiquarian eyes had also become so foggy that he went about bumping into posts. All he had left were the bare cannulae of his last feathers. Pelayo threw a blanket over him and extended him the charity of letting him sleep in the shed, and only then did they notice that he had a temperature at night, and was delirious with the tongue twisters of an old Norwegian. That was one of the few times they became alarmed, for they thought he was going to die and not even the wise neighbor woman had been able to tell them what to do with dead angels.

          And yet he not only survived his worst winter, but seemed improved with the first sunny days. He remained motionless for several days in the farthest corner of the courtyard, where no one would see him, and at the beginning of December some large, stiff feathers began to grow on his wings, the feathers of a scarecrow, which looked more like another misfortune of decreptitude. But he must have known the reason for those changes, for he was quite careful that no one should notice them, that no one should hear the sea chanteys that he sometimes sang under the stars. One morning Elisenda was cutting some bunches of onions for lunch when a wind that seemed to come from the high seas blew into the kitchen. Then she went to the window and caught the angel in his first attempts at flight. They were so clumsy that his fingernails opened a furrow in the vegetable patch and he was on the point of knocking the shed down with the ungainly flapping that slipped on the light and couldn't get a grip on the air. But he did manage to gain altitude. Elisenda let out a sigh of relief, for herself and for him, when she watched him pass over the last houses, holding himself up in some way with the risky flapping of a senile vulture. She kept watching him even when she was through cutting the onions and she kept on watching until it was no longer possible for her to see him, because then he was no longer an annoyance in her life but an imaginary dot on the horizon of the sea.



bits and pieces:
to be added later

credits:
to be added later




  ~Dark Raivenn~
                               
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Tuesday, January 26th 2010

11:26 PM (14 days, 2h, 46min ago)

Scraggly Angel part 2 of 3



continuation of Scraggly Angel part 1

His prudence fell on sterile hearts. The news of the captive angel spread with such rapidity that after a few hours the courtyard had the bustle of a marketplace and they had to call in troops with fixed bayonets to disperse the mob that was about to knock the house down. Elisenda, her spine all twisted from sweeping up so much marketplace trash, then got the idea of fencing in the yard and charging five cents admission to see the angel.

          The curious came from far away. A traveling carnival arrived with a flying acrobat who buzzed over the crowd several times, but no one paid any attention to him because his wings were not those of an angel but, rather, those of a sidereal bat. The most unfortunate invalids on earth came in search of health: a poor woman who since childhood has been counting her heartbeats and had run out of numbers; a Portuguese man who couldn't sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him; a sleepwalker who got up at night to undo the things he had done while awake; and many others with less serious ailments. In the midst of that shipwreck disorder that made the earth tremble, Pelayo and Elisenda were happy with fatigue, for in less than a week they had crammed their rooms with money and the line of pilgrims waiting their turn to enter still reached beyond the horizon.

          The angel was the only one who took no part in his own act. He spent his time trying to get comfortable in his borrowed nest, befuddled by the hellish heat of the oil lamps and sacramental candles that had been placed along the wire. At first they tried to make him eat some mothballs, which, according to the wisdom of the wise neighbor woman, were the food prescribed for angels. But he turned them down, just as he turned down the papal lunches that the pentinents brought him, and they never found out whether it was because he was an angel or because he was an old man that in the end ate nothing but eggplant mush. His only supernatural virtue seemed to be patience. Especially during the first days, when the hens pecked at him, searching for the stellar parasites that proliferated in his wings, and the cripples pulled out feathers to touch their defective parts with, and even the most merciful threw stones at him, trying to get him to rise so they could see him standing. The only time they succeeded in arousing him was when they burned his side with an iron for branding steers, for he had been motionless for so many hours that they thought he was dead. He awoke with a start, ranting in his hermetic language and with tears in his eyes, and he flapped his wings a couple of times, which brought on a whirlwind of chicken dung and lunar dust and a gale of panic that did not seem to be of this world. Although many thought that his reaction had not been one of rage but of pain, from then on they were careful not to annoy him, because the majority understood that his passivity was not that of a her taking his ease but that of a cataclysm in repose.

          Father Gonzaga held back the crowd's frivolity with formulas of maidservant inspiration while awaiting the arrival of a final judgment on the nature of the captive. But the mail from Rome showed no sense of urgency. They spent their time finding out in the prisoner had a navel, if his dialect had any connection with Aramaic, how many times he could fit on the head of a pin, or whether he wasn't just a Norwegian with wings. Those meager letters might have come and gone until the end of time if a providential event had not put and end to the priest's tribulations.

          It so happened that during those days, among so many other carnival attractions, there arrived in the town the traveling show of the woman who had been changed into a spider for having disobeyed her parents. The admission to see her was not only less than the admission to see the angel, but people were permitted to ask her all manner of questions about her absurd state and to examine her up and down so that no one would ever doubt the truth of her horror. She was a frightful tarantula the size of a ram and with the head of a sad maiden. What was most heartrending, however, was not her outlandish shape but the sincere affliction with which she recounted the details of her misfortune. While still practically a child she had sneaked out of her parents' house to go to a dance, and while she was coming back through the woods after having danced all night without permission, a fearful thunderclap rent the sky in tow and through the crack came the lightning bolt of brimstone that changed her into a spider. Her only nourishment came from the meatballs that charitable souls chose to toss into her mouth. A spectacle like that, full of so much human truth and with such a fearful lesson, was bound to defeat without even trying that of a haughty angel who scarcely deigned to look at mortals. Besides, the few miracles attributed to the angel showed a certain mental disorder, like the blind man who didn't recover his sight but grew three new teeth, or the paralytic who didn't get to walk but almost won the lottery, and the leper whose sores sprouted sunflowers. Those consolation miracles, which were more like mocking fun, had already ruined the angel's reputation when the woman who had been changed into a spider finally crushed him completely. That was how Father Gonzaga was cured forever of his insomnia and Pelayo's courtyard went back to being as empty as during the time it had rained for three days and crabs walked through the bedrooms.

          The owners of the house had no reason to lament. With the money they saved they built a two-story mansion with balconies and gardens and high netting so that crabs wouldn't get in during the winter, and with iron bars on the windows so that angels wouldn't get in. Pelayo also set up a rabbit warren close to town and have up his job as a bailiff for good, and Elisenda bought some satin pumps with high heels and many dresses of iridescent silk, the kind worn on Sunday by the most desirable women in those times. The chicken coop was the only thing that didn't receive any attention. If they washed it down with creolin and burned tears of myrrh inside it every so often, it was not in homage to the angel but to drive away the dungheap stench that still hung everywhere like a ghost and was turning the new house into an old one. At first, when the child learned to walk, they were careful that he not get too close to the chicken coop. But then they began to lose their fears and got used to the smell, and before they child got his second teeth he'd gone inside the chicken coop to play, where the wires were falling apart. The angel was no less standoffish with him than with the other mortals, but he tolerated the most ingenious infamies with the patience of a dog who had no illusions. They both came down with the chicken pox at the same time. The doctor who took care of the child couldn't resist the temptation to listen to the angel's heart, and he found so much whistling in the heart and so many sounds in his kidneys that it seemed impossible for him to be alive. What surprised him most, however, was the logic of his wings. They seemed so natural on that completely human organism that he couldn't understand why other men didn't have them too.

to be continued

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Tuesday, January 26th 2010

11:16 PM (14 days, 2h, 56min ago)

Scraggly Angel part 1b


        
Random things that caught my interest:

It is rare to find things these days that will wake me and Circeris from this self imposed slumber. Those who have read and loved The Vampire Chronicles would be able to smile at this reference. Those who haven't will view this as another way of describing the silence that we both have posted several entries about. Due to the difference in timezone it is rare for me and Circeris to just sit down and talk although if the need really arises I am sure one will always be there for the other.

         Here is a reading that managed to wake me up enough to blog about it and share it here. I am sure you will enjoy this and so will Circeris. If you dont, then why have you been following this blog then?

It is written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and will be posted here in parts so that it wont go past the character count for every blog entry.

XXXXX
Part 1

A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings: A Tale For Children

 On the third day of rain they had killed so many crabs inside the house that Pelayo had to cross his drenched courtyard and throw them into the sea, because the newborn child had a temperature all night and they thought it was due to the stench. The world had been sad since Tuesday. Sea and sky were a single ash-gray thing and the sands of the beach, which on March nights glimmered like powdered light, had become a stew of mud and rotten shellfish. The light was so weak at noon that when Pelayo was coming back to the house after throwing away the crabs, it was hard for him to see what it was that was moving and groaning in the rear of the courtyard. He had to go very close to see that it was an old man, a very old man, lying face down in the mud, who, in spite of his tremendous efforts, couldn't get up, impeded by his enormous wings.

          Frightened by that nightmare, Pelayo ran to get Elisenda, his wife, who was putting compresses on the sick child, and he took her to the rear of the courtyard. They both looked at the fallen body with a mute stupor. He was dressed like a ragpicker. There were only a few faded hairs left on his bald skull and very few teeth in his mouth, and his pitiful condition of a drenched great-grandfather took away and sense of grandeur he might have had. His huge buzzard wings, dirty and half-plucked were forever entangled in the mud. They looked at him so long and so closely that Pelayo and Elisenda very soon overcame their surprise and in the end found him familiar. Then they dared speak to him, and he answered in an incomprehensible dialect with a strong sailor's voice. That was how they skipped over the inconvenience of the wings and quite intelligently concluded that he was a lonely castaway from some foreign ship wrecked by the storm. And yet, they called in a neighbor woman who knew everything about life and death to see him, and all she needed was one look to show them their mistake.

          "He's an angel," she told them. "He must have been coming for the child, but the poor fellow is so old that the rain knocked him down."

          On the following day everyone knew that a flesh-and-blood angel was held captive in Pelayo's house. Against the judgment of the wise neighbor woman, for whom angels in those times were the fugitive survivors of a spiritual conspiracy, they did not have the heart to club him to death. Pelayo watched over him all afternoon from the kitchen, armed with his bailiff's club, and before going to bed he dragged him out of the mud and locked him up with the hens in the wire chicken coop. In the middle of the night, when the rain stopped, Pelayo and Elisenda were still killing crabs. A short time afterward the child woke up without a fever and with a desire to eat. Then they felt magnanimous and decided to put the angel on a raft with fresh water and provisions for three days and leave him to his fate on the high seas. But when they went out into the courtyard with the first light of dawn, they found the whole neighborhood in front of the chicken coop having fun with the angel, without the slightest reverence, tossing him things to eat through the openings in the wire as if weren't a supernatural creature but a circus animal.

          Father Gonzaga arrived before seven o'clock, alarmed at the strange news. By that time onlookers less frivolous than those at dawn had already arrived and they were making all kinds of conjectures concerning the captive's future. The simplest among them thought that he should be named mayor of the world. Others of sterner mind felt that he should be promoted to the rank of five-star general in order to win all wars. Some visionaries hoped that he could be put to stud in order to implant the earth a race of winged wise men who could take charge of the universe. But Father Gonzaga, before becoming a priest, had been a robust woodcutter. Standing by the wire, he reviewed his catechism in an instant and asked them to open the door so that he could take a close look at that pitiful man who looked more like a huge decrepit hen among the fascinated chickens. He was lying in the corner drying his open wings in the sunlight among the fruit peels and breakfast leftovers that the early risers had thrown him. Alien to the impertinences of the world, he only lifted his antiquarian eyes and murmured something in his dialect when Father Gonzaga went into the chicken coop and said good morning to him in Latin. The parish priest had his first suspicion of an imposter when he saw that he did not understand the language of God or know how to greet His ministers. Then he noticed that seen close up he was much too human: he had an unbearable smell of the outdoors, the back side of his wings was strewn with parasites and his main feathers had been mistreated by terrestrial winds, and nothing about him measured up to the proud dignity of angels. The he came out of the chicken coop and in a brief sermon warned the curious against the risks of being ingenuous. He reminded them that the devil had the bad habit of making use of carnival tricks in order to confuse the unwary. He argued that if wings were not the essential element in determining the different between a hawk and an airplane, they were even less so in the recognition of angels. Nevertheless, he promised to write a letter to his bishop so that the latter would write his primate so that the latter would write to the Supreme Pontiff in order to get the final verdict from the highest courts.


to be continued

bits and pieces
to be added later



credits: to be added later



  ~Dark Raivenn~

                            


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Friday, January 8th 2010

12:57 PM (32 days, 13h, 15min ago)

A New Toy

  • Mood/Mindframe: I just want to chill & relax a bit
  • Music: Depedro - Como El Viento



            I know this place has been silent for a while not because it has been forgotten but because we rarely find anything that moves us both these days. If by chance I do find something , I am rarely inclined to write about it on here for i know not when the next thing that will remind me that I still am alive will come by. Selfish in a way but it is true. 

           But memory is always faulty. It fades and morphs whether we will it or not. Which is why Raiveris is here to remind us both of our previous selves. What that was like, how it was like in hopes that we both dont morph too much into something we ourselves would not be able to recognize.

            A part of me misses tramping down these halls but the urge to speak, share and reach out isn't as strong as it once was. Lately I have been merely content with observing. To remedy this growing silence that seems to engulf us both, me and my sister.... I got myself a new toy.

    


            A thing I can carry around with me all the time. I dont really need a full size laptop nor do I need a desktop since I already have those. I need one like this since I carry a lot of things with me all the time. So with this, hopefully  it will motivate me to type out my thoughts much more often. I dont have a problem with the keyboard on this one. The choice was been a Toshiba NB and an HP mini. Although the HP mini is more stylish and has a more comfortable keyboard what won me over towards the Toshiba is the battery power. It last for 9 hours while the HP mini lasts from 5-6 hours. The HP mini is more stylish though. The rest of the mini laptops out there had keyboard which my nails will battle with. Or other laptops whose keys
my nails somehow manages to flick out of the keyboard with ease.

           So we will see if this makes me wander down these halls more often.

bits and pieces
Marrying a man is like buying something you've been admiring for a long time in a shop window. you may love it when you get it home, but it doesn't always go with everything else in the house. -Jean Kerr
--
Me: Isn't it cute!!! It is so small ehehe (shows off her new mini laptop)
Chaos: Looks at it and says " You cant play rpg on it"
Me: *ecstatic mood becomes deflated* Well I hate you too!



credits:
brokecreekstore.com
                blogcdn.com
                images2.pocket-lint.com



  ~Dark Raivenn~
                    
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Sunday, January 3rd 2010

1:29 PM (37 days, 12h, 42min ago)

timelessness

  • Music: garbage - milk
We feel that we have to hold onto the good things, our passions and wants, our beliefs...

Yet sometimes, in unbearable moments, it still just don't seem enough. We get attached with pain
when nothing else seem to drive us more strongly to live. For that, we could make anything, even the smallest things seem to matter a lot for the moment, and we hold on to the feeling and in time would forget why we felt so at that moment, only the feeling remain and the rest is just silence.

My silence is getting bigger... , and there's nobody else that could bathe in it, drink it, cloak it around anything, anybody, bear with it , for I don't know how long I could,  but me. 

So I have a sister and she's so much the same... And heaven knows however we're bearing the things and the silence we have. And these feelings we hold onto. No matter how deep, and dark they are and how much we try to pour and even them out and keep our friends that keep us sane at the same time, trying hard not to be too dark for them... when I only wish they'd stay when they get to feel that silence and know they're always appreciated. I know how to be carefree, and laugh, and look at things simpler with them. Yet I just wanted so much...so much, to be dark, and silent and see the world at bird's eye view with them too...


I feel this timelessness..., wherein most people celebrate a new year's holiday every year of their lives.

So......let me try to feel and talk lighter,

Won't I be allowed to go back and play computer games as much I want to now?



~Circeris

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Tuesday, October 20th 2009

2:56 AM (113 days, 0h, 15min ago)

muses

  • Mood/Mindframe: my normal dark
  • Music: bleed
Bleed





My Eyes Are Burning Through Their Lids
I Can't Remember When I've Closed Them
I Think Of Searing Off My Lips So I Can't Scream Your Name
I Know You See That I Am Just A Shell Of Me
How Is It So Easy For You To Watch Me Bleed?
This Sucking Wound Is Eating Through My Chest
I Ache For You.
I Will Linger Here At Best
I've Got A Hole Right Here
I Think The Sun Was Out Today
I Can't Remember When I've Felt It
I Keep Waking Up To Waste Away In This Empty Room
And I Cannot Believe
The One That You Would Reach For In Your Sleep
Is Now Writhing At Your Feet
And You Just Let Me Bleed
This Sucking Wound Is Eating Through My Chest
I Ache For You
This Sucking Wound Is Bleeding Me




~Circeris
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Sunday, October 4th 2009

12:53 PM (128 days, 14h, 18min ago)

glimpses

  • Mood/Mindframe: still
  • Music: night wind


Will you forget me too...?




(by anonymous)




~Circeris
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Sunday, September 27th 2009

2:42 AM (136 days, 0h, 29min ago)

breathing

  • Music: scarlet sins
Soiled

Feeding from the passions you disowned
I burn all the ties from it all,
left you standing thoughtless

When all your disquietude
had been mine
And all my thoughts were yours
I lost most of my warmth
in the pages soiled by you

When my strings were entangled
with your senses,
they died away slowly
While the rotting veins are
still attached to me

I broke off now these lifeless parts
that cling to me uselessly
Dead pieces that I once owned
This dead that called for
you constantly.




~Circeris
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Tuesday, September 15th 2009

12:46 PM (147 days, 14h, 26min ago)

Moods

  • Mood/Mindframe: grow me new eyes
  • Music: breeze




Image credit: psu.com



...I feel a familiar breeze

~Circeris

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Tuesday, September 8th 2009

12:23 PM (154 days, 14h, 49min ago)

muse

  • Music: Queso - tiamat


Queso -
Tiamat


Let the light disseminate to the center core
Right to our heads

Hipocracy is part of the cycle
We get the glory of success from tribulation
We can build another new world
Family of our own
Where dreams are not deserted

Don't you defy it

*Heedless nature holds...
Holds our endless days
But we choose not to be miserable

Heedless nature holds...
Holds our endless days
And we choose to mess the fold

Let the light disseminate to the center core
Right to our heads

Hipocracy is part of the cycle
We get the glory of success from tribulation
We shall build another new world
Family of our own
Where dreams are not deserted

Don't you defy it

All we should do...
Respect the essence of our existence

Breath as the wind blows










~Circeris
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Monday, September 7th 2009

2:54 AM (156 days, 0h, 18min ago)

Raiveris

  • Mood/Mindframe:
  • Music: deftones
I found our new gardener...
(Of a garden that we still have to put up in Raiveris
 sometime, I presume, before Halloween comes)

Her name is Tristeza.
Tristeza will cultivate our garden and make all the flowers there bloom.



I'd give her a part where she could plant and grow (or bury) whatever she likes.




Image credit:   vogue italy) fashionolic.blogspot



~Circeris

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